THE SUN XIX I was taken from my parents at a very young age -- I don't know which age, precisely, or how long I was gone. I don't want to do the math alone, and it's not the kind of thing you ask your parents about growing up. My mother had an argument with my unemployed father of three about him getting a job, and it ended with her stabbing him. Not usually a tremendous problem, but this particular stabbing was witnessed by my sister, who told her best friend the next day at school. This best friend's mother was a lesbian single mother in the 90's, who had previously been in a marriage where she was beaten regularly. Not an important detail to my life, but an important detail to this story. This woman reports the incident to the police, who in turn find out about my dad's lucrative drug dealing. They launch an investigation, and all of my siblings -- who are technically half-siblings -- are taken to their "other" parent, far away. The only one with no "other", I got sent to live with my grandmother. Her views were, and still are, not the views I'd associate with healthy parenting. She was a Jehovah's Witness who had spent the 70's and 80's doing cocaine, and spent the 90's trying to split her perfect, golden son, and the woman he chose. She arrived at my house on their wedding day with a megaphone to call my mother a whore until my maternal cousins drove her off with bats, for instance. The earliest complete memory I have is Family Court. The hallway inside is very long, with 70's plastered ceiling and seafoam green walls. There are tiny holes in the cracks in the wall, and I look into them and imagine tiny dancing bugs. My mom and dad are walking very slowly, so I run to the end of the hall and back again to show them how fast I am. They don't notice. My mom picks me up, and it is the last time my feet touch the floor. My sneakers won't light up if I can't stomp, so I protest for a few moments until my mom says something that makes me laugh. I bury my head in her sweater, and the familiar smell of lavender perfume calms me down. I don't think I even knew what a lavender was. The courtroom itself is much less different than the ones you see on TV. It is all white, with fluorescent lights and bleached tile floors. The only thing wooden are the benches, but my mom keeps holding me tightly. There are cops everywhere, and they are mad to see me. I think I am going to jail, and start to cry. My mom plays with my hair and cries a little bit too, but she talks to me until I stop crying. She stops crying, but tears leave her eyes without making a sound. People talk for a very long time. Longer than I knew people could talk. They talk and talk and talk. I get hungry, then I get hungry and tired. I want to cry, but I do not want my mom to cry too. At least the talking has gone long enough for her to stop crying. Then the talking continues a little longer. Eventually they stop talking, and everybody has to stand up at once. My mom lifts me off her chest and looks at me like I have a cut on my face. I start to worry until she gives me a hug, tighter than she usually does. Ten times tighter. She starts to cry a lot, even though I didn't get hurt. I try to smile and say something and hug her, and she stops crying, but she covers her mouth like she's going to throw up and then she starts crying even harder. Her face is red. I start to float away. My dad looks at me, and then he looks at the floor like he is in trouble. My brother and sisters aren't there. I suddenly feel scared again, and shout for my mom to come take me. I realize I'm not floating, but being carried by a different woman. This new woman smells like soap, and she keeps making a slow "shhh" sound. I shout for my mom again. She doesn't. She just keeps crying. I shout again, and she starts walking towards me very fast until two policemen walk in front of her and start talking to her. My dad has not looked away from the floor. I look back at my mom, and I reach as far as I can, but I cannot reach her. Two doors close. The soap lady tells me her name is Ms. Gross, and asks if I think she's gross. I ask her where my mom is. She tells me I can see my mom after I answer some questions on a test, and I don't know what to say. She asks if I have any questions about the test, and I ask her where my mom is again. She tells me the same thing, and then takes out a piece of paper. A tall black man walks into the room. He says his name is Mr. Karim, and says he is another social worker, and then he says he is from Africa. He asks if I know where Africa is, and I say no. He says it is over 4,000 miles away. I ask him if that is how far my mom is, and he looks at Ms. Gross like he is angry. The first question is what my favorite food is, and how often I eat it. Then they ask how often I usually have dinner, which I think is a trick question, because dinner is every night. They ask if my parents ever yell, and I say yes. Mr. Karim looks happy. He asks if they yell at each other, and I say yes. He asks if they yell at me, and I say no, and Mr. Karim looks angry again. Ms. Gross asks me more questions I've since forgotten, and then she tells me I did very good on the test. I ask to see my mom, and she says the test isn't over. I ball my hands into what must have been my first fists and tell her she cheated. She brings out a chest of toys from under the table, and asks if I would like to play -- I tell her I want to see my mom again. She tells me part of the test is playing with toys, and I have to play to finish the test. Mr. Karim asks if I want to see my mom, and suddenly I forget about Ms. Gross. I tell him I do, and he tells me that I have to finish the test to see her as quick as I can, so I agree to play with the toys. Ms. Gross spills the chest onto the carpet and she and Mr. Karim take out papers. I start to play with a dinosaur, and they ask what it is and what it's doing. It's a dinosaur looking for food, which surprises me that they can't see. Then I play with a truck, and they ask the same questions. It's me driving my truck. Then I play with a doll of a black-haired woman, and they ask if it is my mom. That made me so angry. That was a different question. It wasn't my mom. They wouldn't let me see my mom. I launch the doll at Ms. Gross and it hits her in the chin. Mr. Karim gets up and makes a motion to block the doll after it has hit her, and Ms. Gross looks mad at me. She tells me it was bad to do that, and asks why I did it. I tell her I finished the test. --- They didn't let me see my mom after that. They took me to a woman I never met, who told me she was my dad's mom. I asked if she was taking me to my mom in her car, and she said no -- my mom was a very bad woman who i wouldn't see again. I start to cry, and she puts the radio on. It is people talking. She teaches me about God, and sin, and Jehovah. She tells me awful stories about the city we live in, and the terrible things that people do to other people. She makes me pay close attention to the bad things on the news to drive this home. She teaches me about 9/11, and Rape, and Murder, and Drugs. She shows me news articles with my dad being arrested, and she shows me a picture of him being carried away by the police. His hair is long and brown and he is bleeding from his mouth so much. I tell my grandma he looks like Jesus Christ, and she agrees. She teaches me about the world outside, but she doesn't teach me about the things inside. She washes me, wipes my ass, brushes my teeth, puts my clothes on, and does my work when I start preschool. She feeds me and feeds me and feeds me.' One day, she brings two people to see me. One is Jesus, I think, and one is a woman. She keeps crying, and my grandma tells me I don't want to see her anymore. I tell her I don't want to see her anymore, but it feels strange. I know this person. She shows me the sweater she brought me. It is itchy and green, but it smells familiar. I feel my sanity crashing down like a thousand red hot comets. Mom. My mom. My mom. I cry and cry and cry like I have never cried. I thought she had left me forever. I thought she had died and moved away and a thousand other lies. And here she was. My parents bring me home. My mom holds me the whole ride back. She tells me my grandmother would throw out letters and hang up on birthday calls. She tells me the gifts she had bought for me over the years, and starts naming things I thought my grandmother had bought me on a whim. She tells me what birthdays are, and how old I am. I am four now. She tells me nobody will ever take me away again. We cry.